


The Changeling

by ElizabethBurr



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Changelings, Fluff, M/M, Old Wives' Tales, Pre-Quest, Sam to the Rescue, autumn in the shire, frodo/sam already together, homophobia in the shire, post Bilbo leaving, then angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16321937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethBurr/pseuds/ElizabethBurr
Summary: “The evidence is plain. He’s not one of us.”“He’s a changeling. An elf boy.”“And it’s time we did something about it once and for all.”The hobbits think that Frodo is a changeling.





	The Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> Changeling definition: “a child believed to have been secretly substituted by fairies for the parents' real child in infancy.”

“It’s unnatural.”

“That it is, by my very nose.”

It was late, and the usual piping spirit of the Green Dragon had stilled to a quiet shuffle. Smoke curled and billowed lazily in the air, and the room was cast with yellow candlelight.

“He even looks like an elf.”

“Aye, too slender. And with that mob of dark curls on his head...”

The old hobbit leaned forward across the table, the lines of his face crinkled in suspicion.

“He’s a changeling, I tell ye. Brought over by them elves in place of the real babe they stole from poor Primula’s arms.”

“And now she’s dead, all bad luck ye ken.”

“Aye, and I’m sure that Bilbo rascal had something to do with it, suddenly bringing the lad in under his roof and all.”

“And then he’d off and disappeared!”

“Aye, and after all those years Frodo hasn’t found anyone to wed.”

“Now isn’t that odd...” The old hobbit turned and eyed the dark corners of the room with a scowl.

***

Autumn leaves rustled overhead and dappled, morning sunlight filled the grove. Bright blue eyes stared into deep hazel.

“Caught you,” Sam huffed and smiled, catching his breath as he held Frodo pinned against the thick maple tree’s trunk, his hands on either side of the hobbit.

“So you have,” Frodo grinned.

“That makes us even then sir, two against two,” Sam claimed.

“I don’t recall the first time you caught me in this little game of tag,” Frodo shrugged up higher against the tree bark.

“Well that one was easy sir, remember? I cornered you right up against Mrs. Lobelia,” Sam’s face, still rosey from the chase, perked in a grin.

“Oh yes. And for that,” Frodo wriggled some more, “I will have paypack!”

Quick as a weasel, Frodo flew down and made for the opening under Sam’s arm, but Sam was not ready to give up his tie in the game, and with a grunt caught Frodo’s slim waste under his arms, eliciting a gasp from the lithe hobbit.

“Samwise Gamgee you rascal!” Frodo laughed, legs flailing and hands pulling with no success at Sam’s grasp.

“Not this time you don’t,” Sam said, stumbling away from the rough tree trunk. “Fair and square, like my gaffer always - Oomph!” A hidden root caught against Sam’s foot, causing the two hobbits to tumble to the ground, cushioned by heaps of autumn leaves. They both lay amongst the red and gold colors, laughing with mirth at the silliness of their predicament and for the joyful fall day.

“Oh Sam, this has been quite fun,” Frodo giggled.

“What, chasin’ you around all day? The elusive Frodo Baggins,” Sam gave a freckled grin, propping himself up to face Frodo.

“Hm, I like the sound of that,” Frodo leaned forward and fitted his mouth to Sam’s in a deep kiss. Sam moaned contently, and the two sought once more the familiar touch of their skin, losing themselves in love.

***

“Come to think of it, he hasn’t aged a day since that Bilbo left. Still looks like a tweenager.”

“I don’t like the looks of this, not one bit,” one of the hobbits muttered under his breath.

“And with those blue eyes of his, never seen the likes of them before in all the Shire. Elfin they are.”

“And have ye heard the rumors?”

By this time, the old hobbits’ muttered words had pricked the ears of one or two others nearby, and they pulled their chairs toward the table in curiosity. The room grew dark and silent once more.

“Aye, I’ve heard em,” whispered the first hobbit. He glanced around the table. “Folk say they’ve seen Frodo rolling around with other lads hereabouts in the woods and fields of the Shire.”

“With other lads?”

“Aye.” The tabled erupted in a storm of quiet scoffs and many whispers. _Who? Preposterous! He did what? Absurd._

The other hobbits started to chime in.

“I’ve heard he’s a friend of that conspiring wizard.”

“I’ve seen him weeding the plants in his garden with that gardener of his.”

“Bare chested too!”

“For propriety’s sake,” muttered a scowling ancient hobbit.

“The evidence is plain. He’s not one of us.”

“He’s a changeling. An elf boy.”

“And it’s time we did something about it once and for all.”

***

Frodo awoke to the flutter of goosebumps across his chest. The sun had left its zenith in the sky, causing shadows to lengthen on the forest floor. He propped himself up from amongst the leaf pile with a content smile that soon faded when he found his lover missing. A twig snapped far off, causing Frodo’s ears to twitch.

“Sam?” Now his goosebumps weren’t only from the afternoon breeze.

“Shh, be quiet. He’s here somewhere,” someone whispered through the trees.

Frodo wanted to call out to whomever was close by, but a growing unease soured inside him, and he thought better of it. His eyes darted to his discarded shirt and, throwing it on, he quietly ran from the glade back towards the road. It was a long walk back to Bag-End from the forest, but the road was well trodden and ran through town. Frodo still felt slightly wary, and he walked with his hands in the pockets of his breeches, lost in thought. He was passing by the cotton’s farm when he heard the quiet shuffling of feet behind him. His back tensed, but he didn’t dare turn around. _Probably just the farmers heading home from a long day’s work,_  Frodo thought. But no, the footsteps were of a larger group and sounded with a more determined rhythm than the content shuffle of tired farm lads. Frodo quickened his pace, trying not to show his suspicion, but he couldn’t take it any longer. He glanced behind him, and found the group of hobbits to be much closer than he imagined. There were five of them, mostly lads he’d seen only a few times hereabouts. But amongst the group he spotted the sour face of Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Their eyes were all turned directly towards Frodo.

“Good afternoon,” Frodo couldn’t hide the sharpness in his voice. “What brings you all out here?”

“We’d ask the same of ye,” a gruff voice responded. By now the group was only a few paces away. Frodo felt the urge to run, but to run would mean admitting to being pursued, and Frodo hoped that wasn’t the case. He stopped and stood his ground as the hobbits circled around him.

“Just going for a walk, enjoying the day,” Frodo laughed nervously, gesturing around him. “Now if you would excuse me I’d best be on my -”

A rough hand seized Frodo by the arm, cutting off his sentence with a gasp.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” it was Lotho, and his voice was deep and growling.

“You have no right!” Frodo’s brows furrowed in defiance as he struggled in Lotho’s grasp. But that only caused the hobbit to chuckle.

“Lads,” Lotho smirked, and with a nod of his head, the group sprang to action. The hobbits pounced on Frodo, pinning him to the ground with a few bruising punches as needed. Frodo shouted; he was outnumbered, five to one, but he clawed under the hobbits’ grasp furiously. A heavy punch to the stomach knocked the air clean out of him, making him frantically gasp for breath. Frodo felt a burning tug on his wrists, and a sizeable weight on his back told him that a hobbit had pinned him down and was binding his hands with rope. Frodo’s shouts were cut off by a rough cloth tied around his mouth, nearly gagging him, and a burlap bag was thrown over his head, reducing his vision to sporadic dots of light where the weave was loose. He was then hoisted up from the ground, his feet struggling to find purchase as he was dragged down the road amongst the group towards town.

***

“Aha! There’s the rascal.”

“Found him on the old cotton road we did.”

“He’s a feisty one he is. Twas hard simply dragging him to town, even though he’s so light and all.”

“Well make sure to tie him up before he causes any more trouble,” the old hobbit pointed Frodo’s captors to a wooden pole set up on the edge of the town square. The younger hobbits nodded, remembering their meeting the night before planning Frodo’s capture. Frodo tensed, smelling the sweat of the hobbits who held his arms painfully tight. He half-heartedly wriggled once more in their grasp, remembering the strange order to tie him up. His feet ached from the struggle, and a sharp pain curled like a vine under his right ribcage. Soon Frodo was being pushed forward again, this time with renewed energy from his captors.

“What do we do about ties for his feet,” someone behind him muttered when they came to a stop.

“Let me see to that,” a closer voice sneered. A bold hand grabbed Frodo’s shoulder, turning him around. Frodo tensed, but thought better of fighting, wanting at least to save his pride. The hobbit took hold of Frodo’s fine woven shirt and ripped it open. The sound of it tearing pierced the air. He cut the bonds on Frodo’s wrist, and slid the shirt from his arms, quick as you please. Before Frodo could respond he felt hands on him again and the rough wood of the post knock against his back and his wrists were once again bound, this time trapping the post between them. The fabric of what used to be one of his cherished shirts bound his feet together, preventing any escape.

“There, now the elves will finally take him back to their dark kingdom, seeing as he don’t belong here no more,” one of the conspirators whispered. The stuffy burlap bag was pulled off Frodo’s head, and the wretched cloth around his mouth was removed as well. Frodo chest heaved as he eagerly breathed the fresh air. When he looked up, he startled to find a great throng of young and old hobbits alike, all decent-looking folk, gathered around him, some with tentative looks on their faces, others with bold stares.

“What in Middle Earth is going on?!” Frodo lifted his chin in defiance, his nostrils flared and his lips pursed.

“Come now fey one don’t put on so, ye know why you’re here an’ we now know it too. The elves will be along soon to take ye back t’where ye belong, and we can all be well without your unnatural likes in the good Shire,” a stout old hobbit, one of the leaders of the charade, answered.

“I _beg_ your pardon?” Frodo’s eyes glowed wild with confusion and disbelief.

“What old Bracegirdle’s meanin to say,” shouted a gruff voice up front, “is that we’ve had enough of ye wild Changeling, and ye can either tell your elf friends to whisk ye back or ye can rot here with the birds!” A chorus of raucous “ayes!” and shouts erupted among the crowd in support of the harsher words.

Frodo now couldn’t hide the fear on his face. What would they do, leave him here to starve? The closest elves were near a month’s journey away, in Rivendell. But he figured that only he knew that. And what was this talk of a _changeling_?

“I’m a hobbit you ruffians!” Frodo shouted, pulling in wasted effort against the wooden post.

“Aye, see lads? That’s what he wants us to believe!”

***

The moon cast a faint blue glow in the town square from its perch above the treetops. The town was quiet, almost too quiet, for it was not yet past midnight. The usual bustle of hobbits to and from the green dragon had diminished to an occasional shuffler, and the pub’s windows were dark and quiet. Frodo leaned against the pole and uttered a low moan of frustration. He was so tired, yet to sleep in this position was impossible. Suddenly, a quick movement from behind one of the abandoned market stands made Frodo's ears prick. After a few moments, the dark form appeared again, this time closer. A flash of golden hair caught in the moonlight. _Silly,_ Frodo thought bitterly. _There are no elves in the Shire. These old hobbits are only suspicious old louts, believing in wives tales and nothing more._ Yet a prickle of fear made Frodo’s shoulders tense, and he eyed the moonlit square nervously. As the figure made its way forward, it emerged from shadow and Frodo sighed with relief when he recognized whom it was.

“Sam!” Frodo cried.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam urgently whispered, “I’m goin to get you free.”

“Oh Sam I thought you were.. well I don’t know what to think now. The hobbits, they -”

“Shh, hush now Mr. Frodo. I’m here,” Sam pulled out a pair of old shears from his weskit.

“Now let me see those bonds.” Sam cut the rough rope binding Frodo’s wrists, and then untied the knotted shirt around his ankles, looking nervously behind him.

“What is it?” Frodo looked over Sam’s shoulder to where his friend’s nervous eyes kept returning.

“Nothin, just not wanting to be caught is all,” Sam gathered up Frodo’s ruined shirt in his hands.

“There doesn’t seem to be many hobbits wandering about. The town is frankly deserted... although I wouldn’t mind giving them a good knocking if we were caught,” Frodo scoffed, rubbing his scrapped wrists.

Sam simply nodded, a grim, distance expression still on his face.

“Sam, what is it?” Frodo asked. 

“Oh Mr. Frodo, I’m so sorry! I left to run some errands of Marigold’s, and I thought when I came back you’d still be sleeping in that nice little leaf pile, but you were gone, and I didn’t bother go searching as I’d figured you’d went home and all as it was getting cold. I didn’t think..” Sam choked on a sob. “And when I heard they treated you so, thinking you didn’t belong here, and all that talk about the elves coming to get you, I thought I’d never see you again, and that I failed you so.”

“Oh Sam,” Frodo murmured, brushing his fingers across Sam’s face. “There was no way you could’ve known. But I think.. I think that it would be a good idea if Hobbiton didn’t see us for a little while.”

“Aye, I’d like to be rid of those ruffians for a time,” Sam sniffed, a slight smile warming his face. “Maybe we could pay Mr. Merry and Pippin that visit they’ve been nagging you about since Lithe,” Sam chuckled.

“I’d like that,” Frodo smiled. He turned his body so that his aching back leaned against Sam’s chest and, turning his head to face Sam’s, whispered, “take me away to your fairy kingdom, my elf.” Sam wrapped his arms closer around Frodo as they both laughed. “As you wish,” he grinned against Frodo’s parted lips. They left the square and sought the road leading towards Buckland, its quiet path winding hidden through the trees.

***

“Look! Look! The changeling is gone!”

“The elves must’ve taken him away sometime in the night.” The cut rope lay discarded by the base of the pole. “The changeling is where it belongs now, all is done,” the old hobbit hitched up the straps of his breeches and sighed with content.

“Aye, and a toast to that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off the song "Changeling Child" by Heather Dale (Link to song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqOqEU1xwxI).


End file.
